Captive Soul
by Bakura's Guardian Angel
Summary: Bakura is caught in a failed robbery attempt. Ryou agrees to try and bail him out of jail, but Bakura wonders if perhaps he's lost his touch as a thief...or is someone else interfering with his life? Title may change, story may change, who knows?


Another Story (seperate bodies, btw) that is going to lack on frequent updates. You've been warned.

Disclaimer: If I owned Yu-Gi-Oh, would I really be writing these fictions?

* * *

In uptown Domino, it was dark and silent. Not even the wind disturbed the perfect stillness. The only eyes were those of the stars, gazing coldly down upon the world.

Abruptly the silence was broken as an electronic bell sounded a distress call. Light flooded the streets from the Japan National Bank. The burglar alarm, for that's what the bell was, sent a signal to the local police station and immediately four white police cars skidded onto the street and headed towards the bank. Their sirens all flicked on, blaring loudly as they picked up speed. Each cop hoped that maybe tonight was the night they would finally catch the thief who had been terrorizing banks, jewelers, and museums around Japan. He was wanted in over ten cities throughout the country.

Deep in the underbelly of the Japan National Bank, Bakura hissed in annoyance. Floodlights literally flooded the basement vaults with blinding white light, and down in the echoing basement, the alarm was deafening.

_Oh well_, He thought, _I already have what I want._ He shoved the remaining few thousand dollars into his black briefcase. He clipped the case closed, ensuring it was locked securely, and then adjusted his black boots, tightening the ties, and then he adjusted the hair band holding his unruly white hair back. There was very little that irritated Bakura more then having his untamable mess of hair in his face while he worked. Still, he had been sure he had covered all the security, both human and technological.

_Cameras_, he thought, running a mental checklist. He had cut all the necessary power lines, disconnecting almost the entire security system alone. Laser trip wires…for his physical and intellectual superiority, avoiding them was not a problem. He had ensured that the vault triggers were thoroughly fooled, allowing him easy access to their otherwise unguarded contents.

And then there had been the human security. A total of ten guards throughout the entire bank. Bakura smiled, they were probably chew toys for the shadow creatures in the darkest corners of the Shadow Realm by now…So where had he gotten off? What had given his robbery away?

No matter, it wouldn't make any difference since by the time the police of this foolish city finally got here he would be long gone, back at Ryou's apartment. That was where he was headed, back home. He'd been gone for nearly a week, off 'working', and, though he'd never admit it, he was starting to miss his Hikari

Bakura jogged up the stairs until he reached the main floor. The alarm, if possible, was even louder up here, and the lights even brighter. They reflected off the white and silver surfaces covering the room. Tile floors, chrome countertops, glass tables. He cringed at the brightness of it all. What was the mortals' obsession with glass and metal?

He walked the last few steps to the door. It was glass, like much of the other furniture and appliances around the room. It was a revolving style of door, automatic and motion activated. But the main power was cut, obviously there was back up electricity, but that didn't apply to the door, and it could be pushed if necessary. But when Bakura pushed on one of the glass and metal sides, it wouldn't budge. The smooth doors didn't make their journey around; didn't 'revolve' as they were supposed to.

Bakura growled, thinking that it couldn't possible get worse then this. He hadn't been caught in the act of stealing once. Not in his entire existence. He certainly wasn't going to start now…

"Alright" he muttered softly, then he put down his brief case beside him. He ran one hand across the glass, then pulled a fist back. His fist rushed forward, meeting the glass with a crunch. Bakura, having put all his strength behind the blow, watched as the section of the door gave a satisfying crack and tremble before the glass shattered. It sprayed glinting shards onto the road, and Bakura grabbed his briefcase and stepped through his makeshift doorway. He looked back at the broken doorway, the loud alarm ringing in his ears.

He wasn't in the habit of damaging the establishments he robbed; he felt no need to wreak unnecessary, or, as the case may be, _unentertaining_, havoc. And there was a certain gratification that came with successfully robbing someplace and leaving no trace. But, desperate times called for desperate measures. He _wasn't_ going to get caught, especially not for the sake of avoiding damage to a business he had no feelings or inclinations towards. It was only good for robbing anyways. He could hear sirens in the distance and there was no time to _worry_ about leaving traces.

Keeping a firm hold on the briefcase, he sprinted west. Away from the sirens, away from the bank, and towards Ryou's house. A wicked smile played on his lips. He had escaped. _Again._ Hardly a surprise, but it stoked his pride every time. These foolish mortals…their security was hopeless, hardly a challenge to a practiced thief. When he had been 'alive', the tombs and treasuries he had robbed had been much more heavily guarded. They'd had traps, deadly hallways laced with arrows and spears, corridors that would crush or drop you as soon as you stepped on the trigger. They'd had creatures, ravenous predators, just waiting to devour you. In his time, failure had meant your life.

It was funny, really, how much time and wasted energy was put to protecting those who had died in Ancient Egypt. Once, he might have found their protection understandable. It was vital that Egyptian kings make it to the afterlife unscathed…but that was before he had 'died'. There had _been_ no afterlife for him. Just this endless existence. He wasn't alive, he just was. A soul without a purpose…he had been fortunate enough that his coming into contact with his Host had given him a solid body, but it still didn't give him a reason to be here. He had no ulterior motive, no _destiny_.

Bakura turned a corner, running mechanically. His breath was level and evenly paced. His legs moved swiftly to the time of his thoughts. He had no time to react as someone suddenly leapt out of an alley, slamming into him. He fell to the ground, the curb clipping his head. He hissed upon hearing a rib crack loudly. He was a spirit, but he was still subject to mortal ailments like pain.

His attacker recovered quicker then he, having been prepared. They stood, rolling away from Bakura as if knowing he was dangerous. Bakura stood just after whoever it was. He took in the dark figure, judging their size and form. After mere seconds he came to the conclusion that they were male. But that was all he had time to establish as the person drew a small, but lethal looking knife. It was a double-edged knife, both sides equally sharp. It glinted brightly in the moon and starlight.

In the distance, the sirens were growing louder. Bakura turned his head a fraction of an inch in the direction of the sound. His attacker saw the moment of diverted attention and lunged at Bakura. Bakura was prepared though and swung his hand out in a knife like gesture. If it had connected, the man would have been dead in moments. As it was though, the man dodged, ducking and landing on his hands. Then he used the momentum to swing his legs around, pivoting on his wrists. His feet caught Bakura on the backs of the knees, forcing them to collapse.

The man, again, took advantage of the moment. He stood quickly and kicked Bakura hard in the ribs. Bakura felt the foot connect, slamming into the cracked rib causing him to cringe. He instinctively curled, but then forced himself to stand again. He would _not_ be made a fool of by some mortal! He did a round house, taking up the stance of the martial arts. His foot hit the man's head directly, and it should have been enough to put him unconscious. Instead, he shook his head, as though he could just shake away the pain that Bakura knew he _must_ have been feeling.

Bakura didn't wait to find out if he was ok or not. He let a fist come out, the blow faster then a cobra strike…only to be caught by his target. His hand had come up out of nowhere and intercepted the blow. He twisted Bakura's wrist quickly and only stopped when he heard a loud _pop_. Pain exploded in Bakura's arm, focused at the point where his wrist was dislocated. The nerves of his body screamed at him to run, his pride told him to stay and fight. He held his wrist carefully, glaring at the man standing just feet away from him.

"You'll regret this…" Bakura hissed at him, mentally pulling at the strength of the Millennium Ring.

"No. You will." Suddenly the power that Bakura felt building from the Ring disappeared. He couldn't feel it anymore then he would have been able to had he never _had_ the Ring. His eyes widened slightly in surprise. No one controlled the Ring except for he. Even Ryou couldn't control it, if only because Bakura wouldn't let him. But the raw, 3000 year old Shadow Magic was gone, stolen from the Ring if only for the moment. He could already feel the magic building up again…but he didn't have time to wait for it.

He backed up a few steps. He'd had a bad night. His robbery had ended prematurely, though he had gotten what he'd broken in for. And now this fool was trying his patience. But Bakura had to admit that he'd rarely been beaten in a fight, but it was probably just luck on the part of his attacker. He turned to go.

"I'm sparing you, mortal. Don't think you'll be so fortunate if ever we meet again."

"Don't turn your back on me Bakura!"A voice, a familiar voice, said. Bakura turned sharply, very aware of the fire burning in his wrist and side. But the black cloth covering most of his face muffled the man's voice. Besides, there was no way it could have been who Bakura had been sure it sounded like. He turned again to leave, feeling slightly dizzy from the combined weight of his long trip, matched by an equally long night, and his physical exertions.

He heard the movement before he could turn to see it; his keen ears taking in the sound of being approached, no doubt by his mortal attacker. He turned quickly and cursed his own idiocy when he saw that his attacker now had not only a knife, but also a large metal bar. Where he had gotten it, Bakura had no idea…most likely from the alley, but where it came from hardly mattered as did the fact that he now had a much more potent weapon then the miniscule knife.

The man lashed out at Bakura's side and Bakura dodged it easily, but he simultaneously swung the metal bar with his arm. Bakura, having dodged the foot, had gained the momentum his attacker needed so that he couldn't move quick enough to dodge the bar. It hit the side of his head squarely. Bursts of light exploded in front of Bakura's eyes. He fell to his knees, one hand on his head. He saw the foot coming, but was too shocked to do anything about it. It hit his chest and he fell backwards.

The man came forward, putting a foot on his chest and leaning down so that his face was mere inches from Bakura's. From such a close distance, Bakura noticed that the man had light brown eyes. They held no sympathy...and yet, there was something there. Was it fear? Regret, perhaps? _Guilt?_ Was this stranger feeling guilty? Regretful, even, about attacking him?

He didn't have time to figure it out though as the man, who was younger then Bakura had originally thought, younger then Bakura himself at least, whispered, "Don't you think it's about time you started taking some responsibility Bakura-san?"

Bakura opened his mouth to respond and tell this mortal exactly what he thought about responsibility, but his attacker took two fingers and jabbed a pressure point on his neck. His eyes grew dark and fuzzy, the pain in his wrist, side, and head dimmed to dull sparks, and the last thing he heard was the police sirens growing louder before sinking gratefully into darkness.

* * *

Bakura woke to the sound of gruff voices speaking in hushed undertones. His eyes flickered opened, but he immediately squeezed them shut tight against the bright lights that were directly above him. He rolled to his side, regretting it when his head began to throb and his side split with a sharp pain. Ignoring it, he sat up and took in his situation.

The source of the voices was two officers, sitting at a desk some ten feet away. He stood up, once again ignoring the pain in his head and side. He realized that his wrist was roughly bandaged, but no one had bothered to put it back in place. He took hold of his hand and leaned against a concrete wall. After a moment of excruciating pain as he pushed his wrist and forearm together, he heard a loud _pop_ similar to when it had been dislocated, but when had that been? When in the course of the night had he dislocated his wrist? The thought was random and as the pain faded away so did the question. He walked forward to the metal bars caging him inside the confined space, and he realized with a flush of anger that he was in a jail cell…Not a formal jail cell, but probably one at the Police station in Domino.

So he had been caught. He cringed. Bakura, the Thief King, had been caught by Domino's lowly police force. Something inside him seemed to die, a spark that had been his unwavering confidence. He grabbed a bar with each hand, feeling the cold metal under his skin, and pressed his forehead against the bars, eyes closed, in an attempt to lessen the sharp throb in his skull. Why was there so much _pain?_

"So you're finally up?" Sneered a voice and Bakura's eyes snapped open. He backed away from the bars a few steps to take in a large man, one of the officers he'd heard talking earlier. He had broad shoulders, was almost a foot taller then Bakura, and his eyes had dark circles below them. His chin carried shadowy stubble and his black hair was done in a military cut.

The second officer, thinner and not as tall with a wiry frame, but well muscled arms, joined the first. "Have you questioned him yet?" He asked. The larger man regarded him with disdain and mockery.

"Of course not! He just woke up, Kazai!" Then, turning his attention back to Bakura he asked, "Before I _do _question you, you get one call. You can call parents, family, a friend if you have any. Just make it quick…" He took the keys and began to unlock the sliding bars so Bakura could make his call. Bakura tensed slightly, instinctively ready to escape. But then, he'd been caught once, who was to say they couldn't just catch him again? The spark of excitement, the constant thrill of stealing, all seemed so pointless in contrast to the fact that he'd been caught, finally after all these years. His usually bright eyes dimmed and his shoulders slumped marginally. Just as the bars were about to open the younger officer interrupted with a hand on the keys.

"Are you sure we should let him out?" He nodded his head in Bakura's direction. "The chief said to be careful with him." Bakura gazed blankly at the two officers.

"You don't _trust_ me?" He said softly, his gaze flitting between the two officers. They exchanged glances "But why not? I've not done anything to provoke suspicion…have I?" His feather soft voice echoed on the concrete walls, his eyes staring dangerously at the wary men.

The larger man spoke up, clearing his throat. "Well…we'll put the cuffs on him and…why don't you grab your gun." Metal jingled and the bars squeaked open on un-oiled wheels. Bakura flinched away from the cuffs, the object so foreign to him that the thought of them imprisoning him was nightmarish. But, realizing they'd only let him out of this cage he was trapped in was if he allowed them to secure his arms. He held out his wrists, handling the one that had been dislocated gingerly as it was still sore. The officer used no such care and Bakura hissed at him, plotting out revenges, imagining ways he could toy with him before giving him an untimely end.

A new thought flitted across his mental horizon…what would he say to Ryou? Obviously that was the only person he could call. That was the only person he knew. And Ryou would come, if not out of respect, out of fear. Bakura growled at the thought of having to be saved by his worthless Hikari. A boy he hardly knew, and yet used on a regular basis. The wiry police, Kazai, pushed him forward with the butt of the automatic rifle he had cradled in his arms. The phone was a classic payphone, and the larger officer handed him two quarters.

Looking at them, Bakura considered keeping them. They were money after all, and old habits died hard…but he had enough money and now was really not the time to be pressing the patience of his captors with trivial things like quarters. And speaking of money…

"What did you do with my briefcase?" He asked calmly, gazing unflinching at the police with the gun.

"Your…briefcase?" Kazai asked, his face blank.

"Baka! The black briefcase that I had with me?!"

"Kazai, calm down. I got the case he's talking about. What about it?" Said the first police.

"What did you _do _with it?" Bakura asked turning and taking a half a step towards the guard threateningly. Kazai put up the gun.

"How about we get to that when I question you…unless you want to tell me what's in it right now?"

Bakura looked away, "Fine. Later then." And he slid the quarters into the designated slots. Because of the handcuffs, he had to hold the phone to his ear with two hands. The phone rang….and rang….and rang….Bakura began to grow frustrated. If his baka Hikari didn't answer the phone, then he would regret it later when Bakura tracked him down. Finally he heard his Hikari's soft, breathy voice pick up.

"Hello?" The voice was confused, and sounded slightly nervous. Of course, if Ryou had Caller ID, he'd be nervous about getting a call from a Police Station.

"Hik-" Bakura cut of, giving the officers a glare that made them flinch away. "Ryou." He amended. "I need you to com-"

"Bakura!?" Ryou interrupted. "Yami, where are you? You've been, well you're just usually not gone for this long."

"…Ryou. It would be very wise _not_ to interrupt me again. Now listen."

"…." There was silence on the other line, but Bakura could almost sense Ryou's fear and attentiveness through his quick breaths and complete quiet.

"I need you…to come to the Police Station. The one in Domino. Why is not important, so don't ask me Hika-" Bakura cursed himself mentally. "Ryou. Just _come_." Bakura slammed the phone against the wall, the plastic cracking and the metal box bolted to the wall rattling loudly. No matter what happened to him, Bakura believed asking his weak Hikari for help would be the hardest thing he'd ever have to do.

"Alright, if you're done…you can go back to your cell now." Bakura stood defiantly, considering trying to escape right now…it would be simple enough to pick the locks on the cuffs later. He sighed, feeling the pain in his ribs and head. His body was exhausted even if his consciousness was not. Better to wait here then to risk injuring this fragile body he'd been granted. In a worst-case scenario, he _could_ still use Ryou's body and did occasionally. But it was easier to have his own body to fall back upon.

He allowed himself to be led back into the cell. He lay on the cot, staring up at the ceiling. His heartbeat slowed and his thoughts drifted to his horridly failed robbery that evening.

He had failed. The thought occurred to him over and over. He had been caught, imprisoned, captured and captivated by these mortal fools. How?

That was the question…How? How had he missed everything? Made so many mistakes? What was _wrong_ with him? Obviously he'd done something wrong…tripped in his escape perhaps? That would explain the wrist, the rib, and his throbbing head…But he'd kill himself if he'd been caught because of something as foolish as _tripping_. So…how?

Not once did it occur to him that he had no memory of the strange attacker. Not once did he think that the pain he was in had been caused by another. And as he drifted into unconsciousness, the only doubts he had were about himself.

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